


Nightly Torments

by InsaneJuliann



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brief Mention of Allison, Gen, Mostly this is all bro-feels, Oh someone dies but not really, several times in fact, tiny bit of pre-Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneJuliann/pseuds/InsaneJuliann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the darkness around their hearts leads to Stiles, Allison, and Scott being tormented in their dreams? And for Scott, he ends up dreaming again and again of making choices that lead to Derek's death. Based on a tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightly Torments

**Author's Note:**

> So, first fanfic I've written in a few years, and it was inspired by a post on tumblr.  
> http://sinyhale.tumblr.com/post/60499820406/so-there-was-that-teaser-where-allison-dreamt-about  
> I wrote it on there, decided to also post it here because siny said I should. So really this was written for sinyhale's and qhuinn's enjoyment.
> 
> Couldn't think of a title, my least favorite part of writing is naming things. No beta so sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Tiny bit of pre-Sterek. Sorta. Can easily ignore and not take it that way.

_— Gerard watched as she shot Erica and Boyd with arrows - full of arrows - so many arrows - and instead of stopping, she kept going. She’d gotten upset with Kate back when she’d been alive, because she’d thought they were going to capture Scott and Derek only. Now she understood her aunt. This was capturing them… and now she’d kill them. Her mother was dead thanks to the werewolves, and Allison had no love for them - for any of them. —  
_

_— He stumbled out of the jeep, woozy and stumbling worse than usual. The trees were trying to spin around him, even the jeep was moving - but it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t moving because it was *smashed into a tree* that was going to take some time to fix. He couldn’t focus on the world moving where it shouldn’t or his jeep or how much his head freaking hurt. He had to find the Nemeton. He had to find his dad. He stumbled off, wishing his stomach would settle and the ache behind his eyes vanish so he could pay more attention to the woods around him. He needed to focus. He had to. It was slow going - he was human and hurt and boy what he’d give for super healing right now. But he found the stump of the Nemeton - and froze, blinking hard, wanting to believe he wasn’t seeing it. Wasn’t seeing the ground caved, wasn’t too late, wasn’t watching dust settle as the earth stopped shaking out of place. He tried to call out - choked on tears and fear, tried again. No response. He stumbled forward. He dug through clumps of earth and ignored how his fingers went bloody and how he was begging “no, no, no, no” and then everything just_ stopped _as he found his dad. His dad’s body. —  
_

_— He reached out, stretched across the floor, desperate. He caught Derek’s hand, dug his claws in and brought his other hand around to grip as well. It’s not enough. Derek’s accusing glare stayed on Scott as he slipped free and fell down, down, down…. He waited. And waited. And waited. They came back from the meet. Derek wasn’t to be found. He wasn’t not at the mall, and he wanted to hope, he really wanted to believe… but Derek was not at the loft, the subway station, the burned husk of a house. He just seemed to have vanished. And he knew, he_ knew _he dropped him onto that escalator, but he just wanted to believe…. Because Derek couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. He’d been around since the start of this, a constant presence that just refused to leave him alone. Derek couldn’t be gone, because he wouldn’t leave without… without getting Scott to join his pack or accept killing someone as a plan or something. Then the Alpha Pack showed up, right outside his house, grinning and wild and their bloodthirst satisfied because they were dumping Derek’s body on the front step and it’s just even worse than Scott thought it would be. —  
_

Scott is exhausted, and it’s starting to show in his grades. He worked so hard over the summer to improve, tried to do better despite all the Alpha Pack and Darach stuff trying to monopolize his time. But the darkness around his heart… it’s tough. Sometimes it feels like it’ll just swallow him whole. He tries to anchor himself against it - like when he fought against his new werewolf rage after he was bit, by focusing on Allison. He finds his friends, his Pack. Lydia and Danny and Allison and Isaac. And Stiles. Stiles, who always seems to know when it’s just a little harder than usual. Stiles, who has always been there for him.

Stiles, who Scott _knows_ isn’t sleeping all that well, either, but who doesn’t say anything about it. Scott knows not to bring it up, because that’s not how Stiles has ever dealt with anything. But he keeps an eye on him, just in case.

School is just so much to handle on top of all that has happened and this constantly pulling darkness and the frankly unsettling nightmares. They’re all the same, and yet different. They’re all Derek. Derek dying. Derek dying because of Scott’s actions.

Usually it has to do with the Alpha Pack. Sometimes it’s even Jennifer Blake. Once it was all the way back with Gerard. That his plan had failed, and Gerard had been fine once bitten, and had killed Derek right next to Scott to become an Alpha. Scott had jolted awake, swearing he could feel the sticky heat of blood on his arms and face. He’d had to scrub a couple layers of skin off in the shower to get that feeling to go away.

It was like, it didn’t matter what happened or what Scott did, Derek died. Because of Scott.

And Scott, well, he’s aware that they’re just dreams. Bad dreams, terrible, unsettling nightmares that twist what happened in real life… but they _suck_. He wakes up from each one with his heart pounding, sweaty, claws out. Everything in the dreams are so intense. Like he’s living them, really experiencing them. Watching Derek die _because of him_ over and over _and over again._ He can’t help the guilt. He can’t help but blame himself for what happens to these dream-Dereks. Because it so easily could have been true. Derek could have died because of Scott. The Alpha Pack was after him, a True Alpha. If it hadn’t been for him, would they have gone after Derek and his pack at all?

Scott… doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he tries to call Derek’s number. It’s not even four in the morning, and he’d just woken from a dream - this time Scott’s attempt to stop Ennis only ended up with Derek distracted and Ennis having a clean shot to his throat - and he needed… he just needed to be reminded. That it was a dream. Derek was alive. Gone, but not _that_ kind of gone. Still alive.

The number is disconnected. Scott breathes deeply through his nose as he reminds himself that Derek and Cora had been trying to get away. They’d left quickly, hadn’t told anyone but him - and that had been because he’d walked off with Derek after warning Deucalion. The two Hales had been trying to get away from what had gone on here, and obviously they didn’t want connections to Beacon Hills. They’d gotten new numbers, probably. It didn’t mean anything bad.

The dreams kept coming and the unease started following him into the daytime, not just in the dark when the nightmares and emotions from them still clung to him, phantom like.

Stiles noticed. Of course Stiles noticed.

"C’mon, Scott, tell Stiles what’s wrong."

They were eating outside, at the lacrosse field bleachers. The rest of their friends - their pack, though Scott is rather reluctant to call them that; Stiles thinks it’s hilarious - are inside. Lydia hadn’t wanted  to sit outside when it was overcast (Scott thought it smelled like rain was on the way), Allison staying with her, and Isaac staying with Allison. Scott prefers it just him and Stiles.

He wonders how to start, stares across the field into the woods. The woods where this whole mess started, where he was bit and where they first saw Derek.

Looking over, Scott finds Stiles watching him, a brow raised and a slight smirk on his lips. His eyes are serious, though, steady and intent and willing to wait Scott out or beat the answer out of him, whichever it took.

He was lucky to have Stiles, as a friend, as someone to help him through all of this. Stiles would… understand.

"I keep dreaming," he starts, voice hushed as if this was a great secret. It’s really not, but it feels like it is. "I keep dreaming that I killed Derek."

Stiles frowns, setting aside his sandwich and twisting to straddle the bleacher seat. “What do you mean. Like…”

Scott nodded. “Only, in the dreams, he actually _does_ die. Sometimes… Stiles it’s not always just from that stupid fight at the mall. It’s like… anything. I do anything and Derek dies. Gerard’s not hurt and kills him. I distract him when he’s fighting Ennis. I tell Allison not to break the mountain ash line at the bank, and he tries to help me with Boyd and dies. No matter _what_ I do, he ends up dying! All the time! It’s like every interaction I’ve ever had with him, it’s all twisted and I’m killing him! I’m killing him Stiles, every night, and sometimes I wake up not sure if it was a dream or real. What… what if they’re not dreams? Not just dreams, I mean.”

Stiles’ eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open slightly as he processes all of that. Then it snaps shut and he straightens. His eyes narrow and brows pull down, just a little. “Scott, first of all, stop saying you’re killing Derek, because you’re not. They’re just dreams, alright? None of that stuff actually happened.”

"But what if-"

"Secondly," Stiles continues over him, speaking a little louder. "Why would you be dreaming about Derek dying? Like, if it was a prophecy thing or whatever - which, I kind of doubt that, buddy." He gives Scott a skeptical look, like even entertaining the idea is ridiculous. "But if it was, then why would it always be different, be things that have already happened? It’d be, like, new stuff, right?"

Scott shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about all of this stuff, Stiles. I’m not even sure Deaton knows.”

"Not that he’d tell us if he did," Stiles mutters. Scott ignores the bitter undertones.

They’re quiet for a while, and it’s a bit of a relief to finally tell someone about it. Scott sighs.

"Okay, so they’re just dreams. I know that. I do. I just… sometimes it’s hard to remember," he says quietly. "He’s not here, there’s _nothing_ of him here, and all I want after waking up thinking I can feel his blood on me still is to have some way of showing myself…”

"That he’s still alive." Stiles sounds knowing, understanding. Scott wonders for a moment what keeps Stiles up at night, if he has dreams like Scott does and what they are about. How he reminds himself that things are different, if he does.

None of them talk about how they’re affected by the darkness. Not directly, not to each other. Deaton asks, so Scott tells him. But Stiles, Allison? Himself? They don’t really… bring it up, don’t _want_ to bring it up. Like if they pretend they’re still the same, it might be true. Or it might be easier to pretend it’s true.

He thinks about asking. He gets as far as taking a breath, opening his mouth to ask Stiles about it, and stops. Maybe it makes him a bad friend, a bad alpha, not to ask after Stiles’ own problems. But he’s just unloaded all of this on him, and Stiles doesn’t like to _talk_ about things.

Instead, Scott nods and they settle into silence again.

Stiles is chewing on the string of his hoodie, foot jittering as he gets lost in thought. His brows are furrowed, eyes unfocused. Scott waits, familiar with the lulls and bursts of conversation with Stiles. And he does feel better, if only a little, after talking to his best friend.

The bell rings, they head inside. Isaac looks at Scott questioningly, a little worriedly, when he takes a seat in class. Scott smiles reassuringly, as best he can, and is selfishly glad when Isaac seems appeased. Talking to Stiles about things that bother him is second nature. Telling the others about something so personal and vulnerable doesn’t feel as comfortable.

When school let’s out, Stiles practically leaps on Scott when he passes the jeep.

"Okay, so, I’ve been thinking. It’s not going to get better, it hasn’t yet and it’s been months, okay, months, this shit isn’t going away any time soon, or at all probably, and we need better coping methods altogether honestly I think, but that’s a problem for another month. I was thinking, like, maybe it’s so bad because we don’t know what happened to him after he left. Like, what if the Alpha Pack had friends, huh? Friends who didn’t like them dying or whatever. Or Deucalion! What if that guy totally just went after Derek when he was far enough away from you and-"

"Stiles," Scott interrupts, a little frantically himself. He hadn’t even thought of any of that, but he was sure he could take a guess as to what tonight’s dream would be about. He tries not to grimace.

Stiles takes a deep breath, purposefully taking a breather before continuing more calmly, “I just - you tried calling him, right?”

"Yeah, his number is no longer available."

Stiles mutters, rubbing a hand over his hair. “Well, can’t we find him so other way? Just so, you know, you can reassure your pretty head or goody conscience or whatever that he’s totally alive and like, chilling on a beach somewhere or something.”

Scott… really wants to do that. He doubts Derek would like it, because he’d left Beacon Hills to _get away_ , but Scott thinks he needs this. He needs to know Derek’s okay, that Scott hasn’t killed him or anything. Even though he knows he didn’t.

Hopefully. So long as Stiles’ ideas about Alpha Pack friends or Deucalion weren’t true.

Scott has no idea how to start, where to start, how to do this. But Stiles seems to have a plan. Always has a plan, and even when he doesn’t, he figures shit out. Even when he has nothing but a healed bite mark and terrified babbling about red eyed monster animals, Stiles figures out what is happening and what to do. He’ll figure this out.

Scott grins, and Stiles smiles back, looking a little less exhausted than usual. Maybe having something to do will be good for Stiles, too.

_— They searched and searched. It took months, and finally they’d found a small sign of the Hales being in Mexico City. It was more than they’d had, better than nothing. Or so Scott had thought. He wished he’d never found anything at all, thought not knowing might have been the better option. Knowing that Derek -_ and _Cora - were dead, had spirals carved into their skin… it was worse. Scott should have thought that a Pack as powerful as Deucalion’s had friends that would be angry about losing power like that on their side. He should have thought everything through better. He hadn’t, though, had just let them leave without thinking of how they’d be alone, omegas, and how Derek had always told him how much weaker omegas were than Packs. Scott had killed them both - his inaction and lack of foresight had killed the last two (sane) Hales. —_

_— Stiles stumbled across the Nemeton, found his dad and the other parents, Isaac and Allison. The earth had half caved in on them, and they’d crawled free before Stiles arrived. He felt relief, until he saw how intently Mrs. McCall had been where she crouched over his dad. He’d staggered closer, to hear her muttering things like “blood loss” and “trauma” and “need to get him to the hospital or we’ll lose him.” In some ways, it was like his mom all over again. The realization that the hospital might not be able to save his parent, that he might lose them. That he might be alone. He was shaking, so much that he barely noticed his phone. He answered it blindly, focused entirely on his dad. Scott spoke frantically, asking after his mom first, and when reassured that she was okay, the others. Stiles didn’t know what to say - so he said mostly fine, that they were all heading to the hospital though to take care of injuries. He numbly, merely out of knowing it was expected, asked the same about things on Scott’s end. Scott was fine - and apparently a true alpha now - Julia/Jennifer/the Darach was dead… and so was Derek. She’d killed Derek while the eclipse had been happening, just barely managed to kill Deucalion, but been so injured afterwards she’d died, proud of her revenge. Stiles was losing his dad - and Derek was gone, completely gone. For good this time. Stiles dropped the phone. —_

_— Deucalion was beside Scott, Julia was fighting with Derek. Scott stayed back, keeping a close eye on them. Derek said he was here to help Scott. He was fighting the woman he’d been… with. (Scott tried not to think of it too much. Isaac had been particularly angry, and therefore rather vulgar, when they’d found Derek alive, and smelling of their English teacher and sex. Scott preferred not to think about it. At all. Derek didn’t… he just didn’t, in Scott’s mind, and it was not cool having that view challenged.) He defeated her, the eclipse no longer restraining him, and she protected herself with mountain ash. Scott wasn’t going to let that stop him, not when she was still trying to kill the guardians. Allison, Isaac, and Stiles were supposed to be with their parents. She’d be killing them, too. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. When he broke the circle, Deucalion killed her. And while Derek and Scott were both still in shock over it, the no-longer-blind, self-declared demon wolf… turned and tore out Derek’s throat. Flicking his fingers, splattering the blood on his claws on the ground, he tutted, “He was no longer of use to get to you, Scott. He needed to go.” —_

_— Stiles was doing all he could not to rush to Derek, to grab on to him and plead, sob, seek comfort. Jennifer Blake was the Darach and she’d tried to kill Lydia. She’d taken_ his dad _to be_ sacrificed _. But they’d known Derek longer. Stiles had saved him, he’d saved Stiles. H_ _e’d slammed Stiles into things, Stiles had hidden him when he was a fugitive and been willing to saw off his arm to keep him alive. If Derek was going to believe anyone it’d be- But it wasn’t. He was siding with that psychopath, taking her word over theirs, and it_ destroyed Stiles _. So much so that he tripped straight into a panic attack and wakefulness. (And it wasn’t because he thought he’d lost a chance to find his dad, it was because he was afraid of what would happen to Derek if she was alone with him. He couldn’t understand - didn’t want to look too closely at it, honestly - why he cared what happened to Derek. He just knew he did, he really, really did.) —_

A few weeks later, Stiles walks up to Scott and gives his best friend a bitter look.

"I hate you," he mutters. "I blame you for the new flavor of horror that has been added to my nights."

Scott blinks, confused, before his mind makes the connection and he stares guiltily. “Stiles, if I’d thought it would-“

"I know," Stiles interrupts, sounding more tired than usual. Scott is starting to feel too familiar with the punch of guilt in his gut. Was this how Derek felt, about Boyd and Erica and the rest of the Hale family? All the time? Scott couldn’t imagine living like this for years and years.

"Is there anything I can-"

"Just… keep working on finding Derek with me." Stiles’ voice shakes, the hand he rubs over his hair trembles. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably. Scott kind of wonders at the low current of urgency in his voice, but doesn’t comment on it. He knows how to wait on these things and watch closely when it comes to Stiles.

 

— _Stiles was at the pool. —_

_— Scott got the call when Stiles was stranded at the pool with Derek. He answered, he went. —  
_

_— Scott hadn’t answered. His phone was no good anymore, drowned at the bottom. He was losing his grip, slipping under the surface occasionally himself. He was freaking exhausted. —  
_

_— Gerard tried to stop him, Chris, Victoria, Allison. It seemed to take hours to get to the door. Hours to get into the car. He hit every red light on the way there. —  
_

_— Derek told him to let go. Stiles couldn’t believe it, refused to let someone die while he watched again. He struggled towards the diving block, hoping he could grasp it and still keep away from the kanima. —  
_

_— Scott pulled to a stop, tried to call Stiles. There wasn’t an answer. His heart thudded painfully as he hoped nothing had happened to his best friend. —  
_

_— They both slipped under. Stiles tried to hold his breath, but he had already been panting for breath. He sucked in water sooner than he’d have liked and instinctively struggled. —  
_

_— He raced inside, skidding on the slick tile floor, panting, hands shaking. Stiles was sitting at the side of the pool, soaking wet. Derek was sprawled out next time him. Relief hit him hard. —  
_

_— A hand reached in, grabbed the back of his jacket, yanked. A still-capable-of-thought part of his mind thought ‘Scott.’ He hacked up water as he was half-pulled onto the hard ground. —  
_

_— But… Derek wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving or breathing and now that Scott was paying attention he could only hear Stiles’ heart. Not Derek’s. He hadn’t realized how familiar that sound had gotten to be. —  
_

_— Stiles looked up - and recoiled in horror, half falling back into the pool. It wasn’t Scott. It was Jennifer, with scales on the sides of her face and long claws that dripped venom. She grinned, revealing sharp teeth. —  
_

_— Stiles looked at Scott, eyes dark and dead. Full of accusation, blame, betrayal. Scott had said he’d be there, that he’d help. He’d lied. Derek was dead become of him, because he hadn’t listened or been there to help, because he’d been fighting Derek so much and now there was no Derek at all. No one to guide Scott through werewolf things (no matter how much he’d fought him over it).—  
_

_— Derek wasn’t out of the water - and when he looked down, frantic, Jennifer’s lips touched his ear as she whispered that he was dead, that she’d felt as he died and savored it. Stiles flinched away from her voice, her laugh, and dove back under. He pulled Derek out of the water, tried CPR… but it wouldn’t work. Derek was dead and Jennifer was still there laughing and Stiles couldn’t stop crying. Didn’t want to stop. —_

Scott frowns as he tread over leaves in the dark, listening to Stiles walk only semi-quietly just behind him. (It’s quiet for Stiles, who isn’t naturally a quiet person.) The sun had set only half an hour ago, the moon is almost full, and he and Isaac had found a strange scent the other night. Scott is hoping to track it down, or to at least find enough clues for Stiles to do his research magic.

"Why am I here?" Stiles grumbles. "I can’t see anything, you could have just reported your findings back to me. I could be in bed. My warm, soft bed."

"Like you’d get any sleep?" Scott mutters. Neither of them sleep well. Allison does better. Scott wonders if it is because of Isaac or because she isn’t dreaming about Derek dying all the time. Then he wonders if Derek dying would affect her as much as it does Stiles and him. Probably not, he decides. Not because she wouldn’t care, but because Derek had never meant much to Allison personally. Not like he means to Scott, like he suspects he means to Stiles.

"I would be comfor-"

Scott catches a hint of a sound and freezes. It’s barely there, a rustle different than those caused by the breeze or an animal, the way the crickets grow quiet and animal-rustles still. It’s the feeling of being watched, though it doesn’t feel threatening. At least, Scott’s pretty sure it’s not threatening.

Stiles is watching him, then glancing around like he’ll see something before looking back at Scott. He’s waiting, for a sign that it was nothing or that it’s dangerous.

Scott’s just about to believe he’s just being paranoid when someone steps into sight.

"This is still private property, you know."

Scott starts grinning. Derek. Alive. Right in front of him. He really hopes this isn’t a dream, a new twisted dream that ends with Derek dead again.

Stiles gapes for a few moments, then stomps around Scott, finger in the air. “And where the hell were you? Huh? Atlantis? Because that’s the only place I don’t think we checked, you big - you - Please tell me this isn’t a dream,” he ends, anger slipping into desperation.

Derek raises a brow, looking from Stiles over to Scott, like he expects an explanation. Scott laughs, ignoring how strained it sounds, how it makes Derek frown.

"It’s _really_ good to see you.”

This can’t be another dream, because there’s no way Scott could think up the way Derek smiles, small and surprised and warm. Like he is glad to see them too.

They start walking back, tracking forgotten for the night. Scott tells Derek to forget the hotel room, that his house has a perfectly acceptable couch. Stiles vouches for it.

He smiles a bit when, as the exit the woods and start towards the cars, Stiles hesitates for a moment before muttering, “Missed you.”

He spares a fast glance, to see Stiles’ fingers fall from Derek’s hand, and the little smile Derek directs at the ground as he whispers something back too quiet for Scott to catch.

And the dreams finally seem manageable.


End file.
